A Shadow's Tale
by ILoveThesePeople
Summary: The lines had always been blurred for them and when given an eternity it is no surprise they come to this.  Comes to loving the shadow as well as the person. Comes to a hate so strong legends are formed just for them and magic that is yearning for it all.


**Author: ILoveThesePeople**

**Word Count: 3,334**

**Genre: Romance/Angst (Shocker, right?)**

**Pairings: Merlin/Morgana**

**Warnings: Slight smut, very slight, and one cuss word, I think.**

**Summary: The lines had always been blurred for them and when given an eternity it is no surprise they come to this. Comes to loving the shadow as well as the person. Comes to a hate so strong legends are formed just for them and magic that is yearning for each other as well as an end to it all. **

**A/N: So I haven't actually seen season 3, but I hear Evil!Morgana sucks. So this is my rebuttal of this, and of course I fought back with overdone angst. Not much I can really say about this, though I am insanely proud of it. First smut, even if it is small and bad, so yay, progress! Please leave a review, it means the world of me to read everyone's opinions. **

Morgause saved her, she knows. It saved her from all she was and all she could have been if she had been left stranded in the castle. She is golden, almost fragile looking with her petite frame and shining eyes. She does not have the appearance of a savior, of a pillar of strength for someone. She thinks that may be the only reason she finds herself disliking Morgause, a glare sometimes in place when she spots her. She reminds her, at times, of a frail looking boy, thin with unfortunate ears and an innocent air about him. He looks as if a stiff wind could knock him over and a brash tongue could bring him to his knees in embarrassment. He is anything but, though. He was her savior, once, and she wonders at times what it was about herself that allowed him to let her go. Allowed him to give up on her while he has never given up on anyone else. These thoughts are not to be pondered, though, for where would she be left with in the end? Nothing but worthless memories of times that she could picture a happy ending and a bone deep grief that left her ill in the silence of her chambers. No, she had no need for such thoughts.

_(Except, need is different from want in every aspect. And sometimes want wins over; engulfing every goal she has, if only for a few seconds. Because she can _see _him, always has been able to, and it's hard to fully erode such images from one's mind. How can she lose the image of his smile, so pure in the taint of this world, or the shine of his eyes as if the sun itself shines through them? So maybe she has the right, at times, to hate the opportunity her sister had granted her. How could she not when she can still remember times when he had once laid her to rest with a kiss to the forehead and murmured words?)_

She is left unaware of what brings him to her chambers in the middle of the night, chin held high yet hands shaking from where they were clasped behind his back. That does not stop her from allowing him entrance; it never stops her from answering his call. He enters her rooms as if they were a foreign land, as if he had not been by her bedside many a night along with Guinevere to soothe her frazzled nerves. As if it had not been he who would calm her with gentle songs and loving hands that held her through the night. She wonders if this area haunts him as it does her when he is in it before quickly shutting away any thoughts of that sort. She was not here to be made a fool of, not again, and if he insisted on such torture than who was she to deny him? A smirk settled on her face with an ease that should not have startled her and she felt her gaze grow cold with betrayals lived through and broken hearts survived. She saw him flinch as he met her gaze and bit back the sorrow swelling in her gut.

_(Yet she was never unaware, not anymore. She had felt her magic- so much stronger now, so much- reach into the Earth searching- always searching now, always- and finding just before he had arrived. Ignoring this fact was a habit well installed now since her magic always compelled him to her, always would, until the end she was sure. While she answered his calls with unbidden longing he answered hers with forced regrets and she was unsure which she found herself bitter at. It would never matter, though, not really. Not to anyone but her. For they had burnt that bridge long ago and maybe that was her destiny in the midst of all that, to mourn a life forgotten while living a shadow's tale. A shadow of herself, of who she could have been, of who they all could have been. Bearing their burdens unknown to them with harsh words and a willing soul. Always willing for them, no matter how she would burn and kill with the looks of a guiltless woman. Always for him, a man who would always be hers to love but never hers to completely have.)_

He doesn't speak for a long moment, eyes roaming over small details as if trying to figure out a grand plan. She watches his eyes roam over a month's worth of unused sleeping draughts and a bed still made from this morning, a stack of freshly made documents and candles burnt down to the wick. She knew it had to be well past midnight, yet she was unsurprised to see that his appearances suggested he had yet to even try to sleep. Maybe it was because her magic would rise to her skin at times, jittery and _wanting, _as if jerked awake by some unseen force. It created and formed in her chambers, making shapes of glowing lights and creating stories with ink and pen. Something new made with each second as if following a pattern, following someone's footsteps or heartbeat or breathing, a pattern of life and _I'm still here._ A comfort unwittingly given on his part, but a comfort none the less.

_(She had laid her head against the window pane at the time, eyes closed and breathing shaky. Imagined a world where it had been a comfort given instead of stolen and where blue eyes could flash gold when they met her own. But trust was earned and they had both betrayed it too much for him to reveal a truth so great or for her to be able to do more than hide her care deep within. She knew she would not give him away, not even now, but it was only a small promise in a world full of harsh truths and was not worth it in the end. Yes in the end, few things would be truly worth it she knew. For it would end in blood and fire, Mordred and Arthur perishing and neither sorcerer nor witch able or willing to give comfort to another at that time. Camelot, Albion, blood and sacrifice would amount to nothing in the end. But destiny is not to be denied and she has learned to fake ignorance long before such visions were bestowed upon her.)_

They stood there in silence for what felt to be a small eternity and the awkward silence from before soon gave away to a charged air. The air from her lungs felt as if it had to force itself through her throat and stifling the urge to scream became harder and harder with each passing second. At times before his presence would have offered a sense of peace, but now his hurt aurora gave off anything but such a feeling. She finds herself looking away, unable to look upon him as if he were nothing to her but a vile distraction. Someday, she knows, someday she will be better at lying to him and them and most importantly to herself. Yet that time was not now and she could not be seen as the weak one here so she forced her eyes to look upon him again, though now with a practiced look of disdain that made her feel stiff and false in every way. When he finally met her eyes it was with a reluctant purpose she had seen many times before, whether or not the gaze was for her. A hero forcibly pulled from the shadows to bear a weight none else wished to have. When she fell into this category she is unsure, but she remembers that look as he handed her a skin of water in an empty corridor and decides it must have been then.

_(Except, was it really? She can recall a meeting in Gaius's chambers, potions still strewn across tables and desperate pleas flying off her tongue at a frenzied pace. Can remember a key secreted away in the sashes of her skirt and his gaze following her through Arthur's door. Can imagine the look on his face as he first saw her in a soundless castle, a mistake resting heavy on both their shoulders- her sister, a mistake in his eyes, a regret in hers. Yes it had been present then and present now and she wondered how no one saw it. Saw the burning wisdom and endless grief and ever present wariness that filled up all the places an innocence and naivety so great had once been.)_

He no longer hesitates, no longer pretends to be filled up with anger and hate. Instead he is filled with a weariness she did not know he possessed and a sort of sorrow he has no right to feel. An executioner does not mourn his victim; it would surely drive him insane. So why should he dwell in the past as a constant reminder while she struggled viciously to remain in the present? "What happened to you?" his eyes tell of memories that won't fade and a guilt that will always haunt him. Yet as much as she remembers him, remembers how he swept her away and made her anew into someone she thought she wanted to be, she remembers the burning pain. Remembers the poison that was cast into her veins and the streams of blond hair that fell into her face and feminine arms that held her close, another savior. One that would continue to fight for her until she was put to an end. A sister to trust and be loyal to, loyal until the end. Remembers a tyrant of a king and the blood of her kin staining the wooden platform outside the castle courtyard. So she clamps down on any wayward emotions that might be let loose and regards him with cold eyes. "Why you happened to me, of course, Merlin dear." Her voice is a mockery of the soft words she used to whisper to him at night and her hand reaches out to trail a cruel fingertip across his cheekbone.

_(There were nights once where they would travel miles outside the castle gates for such an intimate gesture to be given without fear of being caught. Stowaways in the night, laughing and smiling to each other as cloaks danced behind them on the wind and horses were quickly gathered and mounted. Friends and lovers in every way, yet never confidants. Maybe that was why they fought so hard for a time of their own. Thoughts pressing down heavily in their minds of what if? and will the gods be kind tomorrow? and will the executioner be free another day? For what would they do if one moment should be their last? She had once thought it would take a king to separate them in such a way. Instead it is a loyalty that goes beyond her comprehension and a prince that protects both Merlin and she, never knowing he's protecting them from each other. Fates have always been a bitch, though, so why should irony be any less so?)_

He doesn't flinch, doesn't step away like she expected him to. Instead he jerks her arm away, keeping his firm grip on her forearm and he forcing her backwards until her back hits the wall. Her head hits the stone with a gentle thump, the blow softened by a force that would have been unknown had he not looked away as his eyes flashed gold. She laughs silently to herself; of all the things he had done he worries over giving her a headache? His eyes snap towards her, questioning and wary all in one. She merely raises an eyebrow, an amused curl to her lips still upon her face. "You know that is a lie." The words are forced through gritted teeth and hold a surety in them that made her feel defenseless in his courage at himself, at his morals and rights. Even if it was all a façade he had learnt the art of lying long ago and had learnt it well. Still she gave him her most uninterested expression before sarcastically giving her input. "Why, Merlin, I apologize. I must have been elsewhere, maybe another world? A _nightmare _perhaps? For I was certain you _poisoned_ me there for a second."

_(She ignores the fact that it takes all she has to keep her breathing calm and steady. His closeness is making her head swim and the hand on her arm and the other braced beside her head bring with them memories. Thoughts of nights in forest tents made from her magic- never his, no never his- and in her bed, words of lies and magic and so many other things uttered onto bare skin and into the sanctuary of the covers only to be forgotten in the morning. So many things forgotten and ignored between them now, it was a wonder they knew who the other was at all.)_

His glare, however, could make armies cower and Camelot's best run with their tails between their legs and for a second a picture, sound and sure and so beautiful enters her mind. A trio born of magic and bound in souls saving the people of Camelot from their tyrant king and ignorant prince to bring back the magic of the Old Religion. Can picture perfectly the ideal chaos he could set upon any opposed to their plan. A sister and soulmate to be loved by as well as a world to be free in. He could do it, she knows, so much more easily than Morgause and she ever could. Yet it passes with a blink of the eye and she can see a loyally of a different kind shine in his eyes. It's a loyally to Arthur and a loyalty to all he has ever loved in Camelot, Morgana withstanding. "I did not force you to try to assassinate the king after Gwen's father passed. I did not hand over the crystal nor did I saddle your horse towards Morgause in the forest. You forced me into a path that could not be reversed and if you cannot see this than maybe your visions have brought you more insanity than it has wisdom." She can see the man he will become right now, see a bearded man with worlds on his shoulders and blood staining his hands. His words bring with them a sting of reality and a flush of arousal and he steps even closer, his body a streak of heat against her own. She doesn't allow herself to think, doesn't recall days of recovery and thoughts of _never again. _And for all of the remembering she's been doing lately she can't find it in herself to recall days of ingraining the thoughts of _poison, he's poison. In every way you know he is poison. Never, never again. Please, never again. _into her mind. She lunges forward and forgets to breath for awhile.

_(She catches his bottom lip between her teeth to give it a nip that once would have been playful before pulling free of his grip to get a handful of his hair. She pulls him impossibly closer and finds herself both disbelieving and vindictively happy that he doesn't resist, simply urges her closer by hands on her hips and fights for dominance in the less than domestic kiss they have found themselves in. Teeth clash together with a harsh click and she's as sure that she'll have bruises on her hips tomorrow as she is certain that he will have a split lip as well. He shoves his tongue into her mouth and one of her hands slides down to cup his erection through his breeches. He gives a low growl in the back of his throat that seems to reverberate through her, leaving her panting and desperate for more. And suddenly he's gone.)_

He pulls away with a force that shoves her back into the wall, painfully this time, and his eyes flash gold for the second time that night. He seems to be fighting with himself on many levels and for whatever reason she always fails to ignore she hopes the fight turns out in her favor. Yet his eyes turn cruel for a second, the eyes of a wild animal desperate from being hurt so many times. An animal that knows only one way, to lash out. He repeats his words of "What happened to you." in a snarl before leaving a mocking kiss on her forehead. He leaves her room with golden eyes and clenched fists and she slides down the wall, poisoned yet again. Her heart is beating out of her chest and she's sure that wherever her sister is, whether she is with Cendred or in the Isle of the Blessed, she is disappointed.

_(So the next time she saw Merlin she would smile like the cat that caught the canary and all would return as she had seen. They would hate and mourn for each other, loving shadows and loving foes until the stars burnt out of the sky. Because she would not, could not lose another savior, for Morgause was her only strength left in this world, the only one who should never fail her. And she would not be the Merlin in that story, would not be given absolute faith only to go back on it. No, she would tear him and them and herself apart until it all ended in flames if only not to be like him this time.)_

Even after it all ends they don't escape each other. Arthur, Mordred, Gwen, Morgause, Lancelot, they had all passed with age and war and other grievances of the world. But they were tied by magic in more ways than one, frozen in time with the faces of their younger selves and bound to the Earth until it faded away into dust. And every time they saw each other, no matter what occurred he would always say the same thing. Whether through a bloody nose or kiss swollen lips, whether looking at her through black eyes or lust blown ones, he would always ask "What happened to you." And she would never answer, for what could she truthfully say?

_(_Because_ what had she been left with? Nothing but half-formed thoughts and empty promises, grasping at thin air like a small child desperate for anything, anything to save them from this darkness. What was she left with, what other option did she have, than to embrace it? To let the darkness consume her when her efforts came up useless? Because when it all came down to it, there was never any other option. She didn't decide for Ygraine to be barren, for Uther to be desperate, for Nimueh to be loyal in the beginning. Didn't decide for a beloved queen to bleed out weeping with both love and pain, for a grieving King to be left with nothing but hatred, and a powerful sorceress be left with nothing but the screams of loved ones and a blinding madness. It wasn't her, but Guinevere who decided to ignore the screams that were torn from her mistress at night, wasn't she who made Arthur as ignorant and blind as his father, wasn't she who filled Merlin up with words of unjust morals or put the poisoned skin of water into his hands. She was left with nothing more that this empty role of Morgaine, all rights and shades of gray stripped from her name. A mere shadow of who she could have been, if the choice would have ever been truthfully in her hands. Left with the need to do right by someone, just one person, in her life until the end of time. Who better than flesh and blond?)_

Who better than a love lost's enemy?


End file.
